


A Flash of Blue

by Xxfadingxflowerxx



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Bickering, Eventual Romance, M/M, Pre-Slash, Relationship(s), Sexuality Crisis, Slash, Superheroes, m/m - Freeform, possible prologue, slowbuild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-03-29 00:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3876001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xxfadingxflowerxx/pseuds/Xxfadingxflowerxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You didn't see that coming?" </p><p>Those words were never that witty or clever to him anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there everyone!
> 
> Welcome to this little one-shot (possible prologue of a longer fic) 
> 
> First time ever posting a story here or anywhere actually. Bare with me, I'm rough around the edges but I adore this pairing. They killed me with this one-liner and the final look they shared. So, please enjoy/or cry along with this little fic.  
> Anyways, please let me know what you think because I'm excited to add more to this. 
> 
> Enjoy.

 

_“You didn’t see that coming?”_

That’s right, he sure as hell did not see that coming. _Sounds of gunfire, a young boy clutching on to him. A human shield, awaiting death. Being prepared for death._

_A flash of blue. Hold on- A flash of blue?_

He’s not sure what he’s seeing when he finally opens his eyes, wondering why he isn’t aching throughout his whole body. Why he isn’t hurting, but when his brain finally processes what has occured before him, his eyes cannot help but widen.

This kid, _this foolish kid_ giving him that same **_cocky smile_ ** while his whole body is pierced with the fatal bullets who were initially meant for Clint himself.

It **_hurts_** him all over. He’s aching throughout his whole body for that pigheaded kid who had been testing him since day _fucking_ one and now sacrificed himself for what? Him? The so-called old man?

He wants to curse at him, ask him: _what the hell were you thinking!?_  But more than anything; wants to catch him as that cheeky grin fades and is being replaced with eyes containing nothing; not filled or occupied with their usual sparkle. That sparkle when the kid knows he’s getting on the archer’s nerves, knows he’s being a little shit and making a sport out of testing the archer’s patience; _**it’s just not there.**_

_Though.._

There is only a second of worry, a state of anxiety and uncertainty. Clint guesses it’s for his twin sister, who is about to be alone in this world. A world without him, but suddenly it’s no longer there. It’s only a blink of a second as Clint catches it before the speedster falls to the cold ground. Clint cannot avert his eyes from his body. The body of the young man with such dynamic, so vibrant and with so much potential; now motionless before him and Clint cannot help but wonder why.

Admittedly, he had joked about it. Joked about sticking an arrow though that thick skull of his after the last kick in the teeth he had received from that same little shit. But not this, never this. It was never supposed to go down like this and he wasn’t sure if the kid was able to simply: walk it off.

All Clint is able to do right now is scuff after Cap’s march with the young child still in his arms, holding on to him still but Clint’s is too occupied staring at that white hair bouncing in the Captain’s arms. He delivers the child back to his mother’s grateful arms and tells the medics that he is fine.

He scuffs further towards some empty seats where it feels like the kid is waiting for him. He lays down with a groan and gazes down on him. He does not peer at the bullets still piercing the speedster’s body or his torn clothes. Instead he sighs softly as he watches that young, undisturbed face and the archer feels it is missing his roguish grin; the grin that made Clint feel like the kid reserved it especially for the archer himself.

He can’t help but to reach out towards a white strand of hair and brushes it slightly out of the young man’s face. _“You were right, kid.”_ Clint softly mumbles.

_“I didn’t see that coming.”_

Those words were never that witty or clever to him anyway.


	2. Two Bullheaded Bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Miss me?”
> 
> Little bullheaded, bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT, HERE IT IS!
> 
> What you've all been waiting for and will sadly be let down. 
> 
> I'm hoping it's quite alright, I tried to be in the same mood and writing style as before but it's difficult while they are actually interacting. Hope you'll enjoy it eitherway.

_“You little, bullheaded bastard.”_

Alright, hold on. Don’t get those panties in a twist now. Let’s just start with the fact that; Clint **did not** expect this. The only thing Clint wanted early in the morning and expected to find in the kitchen was a big cup of coffee and his munchy cereal. To his surprise, he instead he finds the young Sokovian sitting there unaffected and munching away a whole bag of Dorito’s in front of him.

Other than the fact that he’s grossed out by the fact that the youngster can eat those so early in the morning and that in turn makes Clint _feel old_. He cannot help but stare at the kid with a feeling of surprise mingled with conflict. Yes, he might have had hoped for this; ~~minus the Dorito’s~~. Might have laid awake thinking of this kid lying motionless on the ground, but this was getting ridiculous for even the archer.

“Hi.”

“Hi..?”

He will never forget the first time they met, although he’ll keep trying. You want to know why? Let me tell you why; Because that little shit has that same **smug** expression across his features like that first time as he’s eating a bag of Dorito’s, leaning his elbows further on the counter and just giving Clint that same mischievous grin like nothing happened at all.

“Miss me?”

 _Little bullheaded, bastard._ He instantly forgets what it felt like to mourn for this young man, how it felt as he watched the poor kid fall to the ground. To see him being carried away and only to stare after that bouncing white hair. How Clint _ached_ to watch this kid from above and stroking the hair out of his bloodied face; because he yearned for _this child_ so bad. But in a matter of seconds, he had worked the archer up so much already that the flood of relief seeing this young man is instantly replaced with his usual annoyance for the brat. It’s a rude awakening for Clint Barton.

“What are you doing here? Did someone leave your coffin open?” Clint shoots at the kid and the speedster makes a face at him. He finishes his last Dorito with a loud munch and removes himself from the barstool he was claiming. Before Clint even notices, that same **_flash of blue_ ** moves towards him and the kid is suddenly giving him his smug smirk only a few centimeters from his face. _Great._

“You’re so grumpy, old man. You did not see this coming?” The kid says, with that thick accent of his and lets out a small, satisfied chuckle. Clint’s first instinct is to cringe up at that sentance, but he is pleased to find out that the kid looks good and by that; Clint means he looks well, he looked well-rested and healthy. His eyes lower to the other’s torso to search for any sign of bullets holes, which is silly because they are covered behind that ridiculous tight shirt of his. The Sokovian must have noticed as he has raised his eyebrow at him. Although, it’s quickly replaced by his usual twinkle in his eyes he gets when he’s up to no good. The part when it happens especially around the archer himself has not failed to escape Clint’s notice.

**The sparkle**

Clint can admit to himself that he is relieved to see that twinkle back in those eyes that were _so hollow_ not too long ago. The annoyance lessens slightly and further relief start pouring in his veins.

“Want to see the bullet holes?” The kid says, while already lifting up his far too tight shirt already.

**Goddammit**

Clint almost chokes. “No, punk! I do not!” Clint raises his voice and stops the other’s hand, the other bolts at his touch, but watches in utter astonishment as Clint tries to fix the kid’s shirt for him. Clint’s attempt to tug the shirt back in was a lot harder as his mind wanders. He had seen the bullet holes, he had seen them up close when the kid was foolish enough to jump in and play _goddamn_ hero. He had seen them when he was lying motionless on the harsh ground and they had haunted him in his dreams. It wasn’t the bullet holls that did it for Clint. No, he had seen that more than enough in his whole entire career as a master assassin. But, those eyes. Those empty, hollow eyes before the kid fell to the ground. Those eyes weakly focused on the archer and that last witty grin before he went. Those held Clint up at night.

 _“_ Pretty sure the shirt is secure now, mother.” He hears the speedster say with a tilt of playfulness in that Sokovian accent of his and it interrupts Clint from his dark thoughts. _Shit._

He looks up expecting to find that cocky grin of his once more, but is surprised by a softer expression, eyes looking down at him in wonder. Though, he does gift Clint with an amused smile as Clint’s hands still linger on the speedster’s shirt. The speedster advances his gaze further down as Clint’s hands finally remove themselves, his white bangs falls in front of his wondering face. It makes Clint fight the urge to brush that strand of white hair out of the kid’s face like he did back then. _Hell no, the kid would eat him alive._

 _“_ Why’d you do it?” Clint asks him softly and it sets a more serious tone to the conversation. There is no cocky or smart-ass remark this time. It’s like the kid isn’t familiar with these circumstances in which he finds himself in. Perhaps he does not even know himself why he threw himself in the line of fire for someone that was not his twin sister. _Because it was the right thing to do?_ The other shrugs slightly and Clint can that that he feels out of place and awkward without his usual quirky remarks and facade.

The way the kid is fumbling around him and avoiding his gaze reminds the archer of their age difference. _“Are you okay?”_ Clint asks in a quiet manner, and the kid looks back up at him with a tiny grin, ready to bounce. “If you would let me show the bulle-“ He starts, but Clint interrupts him.

“Pietro,”

He starts off clearly audible, but then again softens _“_ Are you alright?”

It’s the first time ever for Clint to use his first name and clearly it does something to the younger man as he immediately pays attention. He’s still guarded as he tilts his head at Clint slightly, his eyes piercing his and Clint needs to steady himself because of its intensity. _Easy there, fella._

Finally, after what seemed like contemplation written in those wide orbs, the kid nods in reply. “Yeah, I’m good. “What? You were worried?” His lips part in another grin.

Clint scuffs and shakes his head at him. The kid is incapable of an earnest conversation and is dodging bullets (oh ha-ha) with wit and humour; _much like himself._

Again, his smugness has returned to the surface, biting his lip in a certain way of playfulness and Clint knows by heart by now. It’s the kid’s way of testing the archer, testing how far he can go and Clint is sure he delights in the way Clint can’t help but play along. _Someone needs to put this fucking snarly bastard in his place._ It’s written all over his face, but oddly enough, Clint finds himself rather staring at that plump, bottom lip.

He snaps out of it and lightens the tone with a nudge of his shoulder as he passes Pietro to get his morning coffee; he needs it more than ever today. “You better not be pulling that shit again, you hear me, running bird?” He hums and mutters on. “I’ll kick your ass if you pull a stunt like that ever again. The hell you were you thinking?”

He keeps on rambling while he pours himself a cup but his brows knit together at the lack of smart-ass comments and remarks. So, he looks over his shoulder back at the young Sokovain, fairly sure he had just left, but instead of finding an empty space; he sees a pleased, amused and perhaps even a fond facial expression, with the corners of Pietro’s mouth turned up and his front teeth exposed. _He’s fucking with him._

“Got it, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.” Pietro smirks at him with that same fondness, but very much containing that usual roguish demeanor and Clint cannot help himself but gift him one in return.

“Get outta here” Clint chuckles and rolls his eyes at the younger man and tries to hide the widening grin of his own behind his coffee cup.

Pietro, who huffs and shrugs before turning his tail but not without a small salute towards the assassin. A grin apparent in the corner of Clint’s eye, in a hush; he calls out towards the little brat.

“Hey,”

Pietro in turn stops his tracks, hand hovering over the door handle and waits for the man to continue.

“Thank you, for saving my ass back there.” Clint mentions as he didn’t have a real chance to properly thank him, he wouldn’t have been here playing cute banter without the young foreigner and he truly is grateful to him all jokes and comments aside. _A little bit grateful.._

The other turns his head around and leans against the doorway. He seems to be thinking about his words and stumbles over his thick accent, but he makes due. “Eh, it is an ass worth saving?” He grins wider and gives a final wink before heading out to do _god knows what._

Clint watches him go with a raised eyebrow but chuckles, oddly amused. He also reminds himself that he should refrain from building bridges to cliché one-liners. As well as the fact that he shouldn’t give into these weird urges he’s been having around the kid. Not that he’s too troubled, the kid isn’t gonna be around for too long anyway.

Turns out: The kid is gonna be a ** _fucking Avenger._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll have to think about a lot, this fic is quite difficult and I'm trying to get some inspiration. I'd like it to be enjoyable and not rushed or tasteless. Hit me up if you wanna talk about this fic or other things with this couple. I got my tumblr right here: http://xmisschloe.tumblr.com/
> 
> Thanks so much for the early comments. I made me feels so excited and happy that this fandom is so kind <3


	3. Training grounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Widen it”
> 
> “Pardon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again. I'm a bit more pleased with this chapter, feel like I'm getting the hang of it a bit more. I was pretty doubtful of continuing this story of mine but so many people have expressed their interest and joy for more chapters. So, if I can make at least one person happy with this then that's good enough for me. 
> 
> Also, I've been going with the past from the movie alright? Pietro's and Wanda's parents are from the movie. 
> 
> Thanks for reading<3

“Widen it”

“Pardon?”

“Widen your stance.” The archer began, slowly, as though he was explaining a difficult concept to a child. “You’re gonna fall on your ass otherwise. Come on, widen it.”

The boy’s eyes widened slightly before he recomposed his expression into the cool appraisal Clint was used to. “Eh.” He shrugs unimpressed and took a lurching step forward with a huge swing. The blow felt too clumsy. Clint knew the second the kid launched it. Clint takes the opportunity to take his head in a head-lock, ruffling his hair. Pietro riots with some laughter and attempts to disentangle himself from the archer’s grasp before the archer shoves him off. “Should have listened, kid” Clint states, then grins as the kid falls on his ass as predicted.

Pietro quickly gets on his feet again and mutters something, under his breath. Clint watches, bemused. “No need to get nasty.” He chuckles and Pietro rolls his eyes at him. “You haven’t seen me nasty yet.” He bites back before giving a small pout, probably still taking issue not being allowed to use his speed ability for this training.

_“_ Don’t break him yet Clint, he’s still shiny.” Clint hears Natasha chuckle from a distance and Pietro’s bottom lip pushes forward as an expression of further petulant annoyance.

They’ve been at this for a couple of weeks now, if not shorter and he has to admit that both twins have improved impressively since the day Cap called the archer in for getting ‘ _the newbies’_ into shape. At first he was a bit apprehensive, Clint knows himself to be a bit of a lone wolf but when Cap calls; he answers.

The first few days were dreadful and quite exhausting, not only because there was a whole team that needed to be drilled and tutored, but the Maximoff kid was wearing him out with his stubborn attitude and headedbutted with Clint each minute of the day. For some reason, the kid seemed to have the need to test Clint’s resolve and his boundaries to the point where Clint needed to push the brat up against the wall and put him back in his place. It's when you're up against the wall that your true character shows.

\--x

_“Enough, Pietro!”_

_Clint raised his voice in exasperation, and felt his blood boiling at the kid’s resentment and refusal to be mentored by him. The archer launches forward and takes a hold of the kid’s shirt to pull him along to pin him to the nearest wall. The other glaring harshly and tries to escape his strong hold, but Clint won’t have any of it. He presses his forearm against the other’s throat and uses his remaining hand to pin the kid’s arm above his face._

_“How long are you gonna keep fighting me every step of the way, huh?” He presses harder and he wonders if Pietro just hissed at him. “Why aren’t you willing to listen? You’re kind of hurting my feelings, you know? Thought we had a good thing going here.” He says, but the speedster refuses to look at him. He’s deflecting and it drives Clint mad because Clint cannot help him improve like this. The kid finally looks up, but still avoids eye-contact as he speaks up. “This is stupid,” He starts with that thick accent of his and it’s even deeper, probably because of Clint’s tightening hold and press of his arm against his throat. “These exercises are silly and will not help me to improve. I don’t understand why I have to do them, it’s useless.” The kid snarls at him, but his eyes fall back to the ground._

_Clint wants to groan as it feels like he’s trying to mentor a rebellious teen.”Look at me.” He whispers softly, he feels Pietro swallow the lump in his throat and the pressing of the kid’s body as Pietro pushes himself slightly off the wall. The other looks up once more, but again, no eye-contact is made with the archer. “Hey, look at me.” Clint says again, but this time his voice is uncompromising. It makes the kid seem thrown just slightly, but looks at him in his usual annoyance, looking totally unimpressed, but Clint knows better. They finally lock eyes and Clint feels a knot in his stomach and an inappropriate urge coming up which he quickly pushes down as rapidly as it came up. **Focus Clint** , he knocks himself mentally over the head before giving the kid a stern look. _

_“Picture this for me,” He says, and he can feel the kid wanting to roll his eyes at him, but Clint’s glare of his own is enough to keep the kid grounded. “Let’s say you’re on your first mission. Oh, let’s say your sister is coming along with you. It’s all going well and you think you’ve done such an awesome job, but suddenly, your sister is nowhere to be seen. What if she’s suddenly on the other side of the room with a knife pressed to her throat right here? Just like my arm is up against yours right now.” He says and presses his forearm a little harder against the kid’s throat and he can see those orbs widening. “What if she somehow cannot use her own powers? Or worse; you are too slow to get there in time because you aren’t in fully in control of your abilities yet? What happens then? You tell me.” Clint asks finally and Pietro stares at him in disbelief._

_“That won’t happen.” His voice is rough and the words are_ _gritted out through clenched teeth. He’s upset with the archer, Clint can tell but it’s all for the greater good, he reminds himself._

_“No, it won’t.” Clint agrees more softer now. “Because you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.” He tests his chances as he watches the kid’s face, the frown between his brows but finds a newfound determination there as well. “Are we clear?” The archer asks for confirmation and the speedster nods at him lightly. It’s good enough for now and Clint relaxes his hold on the younger man. “I’m trying to help you, Pietro.” He speaks more gently and Pietro seems to regard him for a moment, then he nods once more, more firmly this time._

_“Alright.” Clint nods back at him and removes himself from the kid and in the corner of his eye, sees the kid rubbing his throat. The archer is already working his way back to the sparring grounds but stops his tracks due to Pietro’s earnest voice._

_“I want to protect my sister.” Pietro says and it makes Clint look over his shoulder. He sees the kid peer at him behind his eyelashes as if he’s testing the waters and Clint assures him._

_“I got you covered, kid.”_

\--x

Since then, things have improved greatly. Not just Pietro’s abilities, but his attitude as well, it makes Clint rest in relief as it makes the job easier but also more enjoyable. Pietro seems to have found his motivation and a goal to work towards to, while Clint has found a way to keep those inappropriate urges that come up from time to time under control and locked away far in the back of his mind where he doesn’t have to think about them or try and understand them. He enjoys training now as they seem to clash head a lot less since that day. Sure, they snarl at each other and test both their nerves to the fullest at times, but they have seemed to have found a common ground. Pietro might whine, but is willing to listen to the archer and if not? Well, Clint just lets him fall on his ass until he does.

“Come on, widen those Speedy Gonzales legs of yours.” Clint teases and kicks Pietro’s legs apart with a grin. Pietro glances up with a matching grin of his own and his eyes are _playful_ as he stares the archer down. Clint appraises him with a bemused gaze and teases on. “Why are you smiling? You can smile when you’ve mastered-“ Pietro interrupts him with a sly smirk. _“_ You?” He calls out _.”_ Oh, I will be smiling then, believe me.” He assures as Barton looked genuinely taken aback for a moment before he schools his features back into the amused expression he feels safe with. “Cute, very cute.” He chuckles and walks back to his position, waving Pietro’s comment off.

“Again!”

_\--x_

It had been a heck of a day and Clint walks over to his bag to pack his stuff and to retire to his room, heck, maybe even take a well-deserved nap. He’s about finished packing when he hears some voices saying goodbye and gets a couple of waves in his direction. As he zips his bag up he hears a couple of footsteps nearing him and hears in the tap of their rapidness who the culprit is. The kid has been lingering in the training area for a couple of days now after training and each time, he looks like he’s in conflict with himself. He heard the kid pace slightly and can actually feel how he’s trying form the words in his mouth.

“Hey, old man.” The kid calls out and those _weren’t_ the words Clint would have gone with. So, he gives the kid a look over his shoulder and makes a face at him, then to turn back to his bag pack and not giving him any further attention.

Pietro, realizing his mistake; huffs and crosses his arms in frustration. Clint has learned very early in their relationship that the kid does not like to be ignored and smiles at the brat’s internal battle.

“Fine,” Pietro finally states and he takes a deep breathe.

_“_ Clint?” He says with a voice so strained that it seems like it causes the kid physical pain to pronounce the archer’s name.

Clint smiles to himself and finally turns around to face the speedster. _“_ Yes, Pietro?” He replies calmly and coolly as he waits for the kid to continue.

“I was wondering,” The kid bites his lip softly, trying to think of a way to form the words inside his mouth. _“_ Are you seeing any improvement?” He seems pleased, probably relieved that the words had started to escape a little easier from his foreign tongue.

Clint nodded once. “Oh yes, that pout of yours has improved immensely since you arrived here, kiddo. The pushing forward of the bottom lip and everything? Masterpiece.”

The speedster lets out a groan and scuffs at the archer, awaiting a serious answer. Clint cannot deny him that even though he’s enjoying Pietro’s small reactions before him.

“Yes, you have. Because you listened to me. Should try and do so more often.” Clint chuckles as he throws his bag over his shoulder and pats the kid on his back, mentioning for him to walk alongside him with a gesture of his head.

_“_ Perhaps you can test your speed by intercepting my arrows tomorrow. Maybe be a nice lad and fetch them for me.” He snorts and watches Pietro’s full lips seeming to pout of their own accord, but his eyes smiled. _His eyes are always smiling now._

_“_ I am not a dog.” Pietro argues.

“That’s a shame, I like dogs.” Clint confesses and Pietro cocks an eyebrow but then laughs inwardly. “Do you have a dog?” The kid asks him sincerely and seems to lighten up.

_He’s so young._ Clint thinks to himself and gives the kid a quirk of a smile.

_“_ Yeah, got one. Name’s Lucky.” He smiles more fondly at the mention of his sidekick and also feels a tiny bit homesick. _“_ Lucky..” Pietro quietly repeats as he tries it out on his tongue.” Why isn’t it here?” The kid continues asking as they walk towards the exit of the training center.

“Because this isn’t a dog shelter, roadrunner. He’s back home.” Clint explains and the squirt smirks up at the nickname. “Can I pet it?” Pietro ask almost childlike and the archer frowns slightly, wondering if he’s even listening.

“How can you pet my dog if it’s not here?” Clint asks, awaiting his explanation and presses the light for the elevator. The door closes and the speedster shrugs nonchalantly.

_“_ Eh.”

Clint let out a long sigh of exhaustion and yearns for his bed, but before he can even picture himself cuddling with his softest pillows; Pietro starts talking softly.

_“_ I had a dog once, back in my home town.” He smiles fondly at the memory and looks up at Clint as his eyes light up. The archer burns up faintly at those widened orbs directed at him and quickly everts his gaze. Pietro, gladly has not seemed to have noticed and continues his story with his cheeks flushed in excitement, Clint figures.

_“_ My sister and I found it alongside the road, it was ugly and scrappy but it had the kindest soul and would play with us all day long. Wanda absolutely loved him and wanted to bring him home, even had a name for him and anything. As you may have noticed, my sister has me wrapped around her little finger..” He laughs amused at his own faults before he continues. “So, you probably could have guessed that I couldn’t deny her anything and I ended up bringing the dog home with us.” He explains but stills for a moment and Clint glances at him in wonder.

_“_ Father said..they weren’t able to feed another mouth,” Pietro mumbles softly and looks down at his Adidas running shoes _.”_ He threw it out and the dog had hurt himself but we weren’t allowed to go outside and check up on him. We could hear it crying in pain and watched in front of that dirty window how those sounds slowly dimmed and at one point, he didn’t make any sounds at all.“ Pietro finishes that sentence lost in thoughts and in his own world. Clint gazes over his expression and has already reached out to the kid’s hair; much to his own surprise. The gentle touch of feeling his bangs brushed out of his face and behind his ear seemed to have gotten his attention, and Pietro looks up in quiet wonder. Clint cannot help but give him a sympathetic smile but they are both awakened by the elevator's doors opening and they both startle in surprise. _“_ Oh, already?” Pietro blinks and before long, he’s guarded himself with that usual roguish smile of his. He gives Clint his signature salute before heading out with a small skip towards his room, Clint vaguely sees it happen before calling out to him.

“Pietro,” He calls out quite clumsily and it makes the kid look over his shoulder in surprise.

Clint bites his lip before he voices his thoughts. “If the opportunity ever arrives,” He starts off.

“You may pet my dog.”

The archer sees how the kid is processing his words, knitting his brows but it’s replaced with his eyes widened and his whole face coming to life. He can see a beaming smile forming and the way his lips part to probably say something, but before the kid even has the opportunity, their sight is taken away as the elevator's doors close in front of both of them.

Clint has to blink a few times to process it all as slurps back against the wall, his thoughts still with the speedster’s face brought to life and wondering what he would have wanted to say.

**Damn.**

He smiles to himself; thinking just how lovely that face looked just now. Then he whines loudly.

Seriously, Clint. _“_ You may pet my dog?” He calls himself out softly and groans in embarrassment as he finally gets out of the elevator on the floor of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanna talk and hang out, you know where to go: 
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xmisschloe


	4. You're quite welcome.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a twist of his lips, Clint shrugs as Stark struts like a peacock up on the stage while Pietro slithers up on him, his mind fixed on Clint's muscular shoulder, gently nibbling the cloth and the skin below, peeking up at him through dark strands, gaining Clint’s undivided attention in an instant. 
> 
> “Wanna get outta here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HUGE THANKS to my Beta-reader, Elinor <3
> 
> She made this 10 times better and I kneel before you. 
> 
> For all others, please enjoy. <3

“Alone- in bad company.”

Clint casts an amused grin at Pietro’s non-toxic smack talk and peeks over his shoulder at the swift speedster expectantly.

“Ah, if it isn’t tall, dark and obnoxious.”He peers up under dark eyelashes and Pietro’s smirk darkens unashamedly.

Training has ended and it has become their shared ritual for them to linger after training sessions. Frequently to talk or share a drink together, sometimes they even go another round themselves. Though, that often ends with the archer cursing high up in his nest; ignoring the little shit while Pietro keeps pleading and apologizing from below for cheating _again_ with his super speed abilities.

_“Come on, old man! Get your ass down? I promise I won’-“_

_“Nope!”_

Apart from that, Clint seems to have created a soft spot for the brat, who seems to feel just as much or _even more_ drawn in by the archer as well. The Sokovian still deflects most earnest conversations with snarky comments and humor but with Clint it’s different.

Clint has not failed to notice that the kid is less guarded around his company, lets himself relax around the archer and often looks for his guidance and approval but more importantly: Clint has noticed his lingering gaze.

The archer wishes the kid wouldn’t look at him the way he does – following his every move like a lion watches a gazelle. Often, Clint needs to avert his eyes because of its intensity and forces a stable tone of voice as the kid is subtly digging his top teeth into that pouty bottom lip of his.

The thing is, Clint has never felt an attraction to men. He had always enjoyed and adored women, loved their curves and soft bodies. Pietro on the other hand, is bulky; all muscle and lots of sharp edges. Tall like a _goddamn_ tree and his body is hard like a _goddamn_ rock. His build is insanely broad for his age; broader than Clint’s and you cannot believe how much crap Clint has to put up with because of those broad shoulders of his. What makes it even worse is that Pietro is a total show-off and teases the archer with flexes of his arms and tight shirts whenever he gets the chance. _Which is all the time._ You see, he’s not at all like the ladies Clint has ever been with ever considered attractive.

 _But_ _the kid is throwing the world he once knew so well into uproar._

Clint is allured by him, allured by his piercing eyes and knowing smirk. He’s bewitched by his vigour and playfulness but he’s even _more_ fascinated by the kid’s sudden quietness at the same time; how he forgets the world around him, at times when he thinks no one is paying attention but Clint notices, and he notices _a lot._

He’s enchanted by Pietro’s softer smiles as Clint catches him gazing at him behind those soft bangs and even so by the fact that, unlike Clint he doesn’t lower his gaze. He keeps their eyes _locked_ , he’s following every move of his prey and it sends shivers down Clint’s spine each time he catches it.

He’s even drawn to those _goddamn_ tightening shirts of his.

Those _sinful_ , tight shirts where he purposely shows off those broad strong arms of his, and instead of being envious like before. He pictures himself wrapped around them and wonders how nice to would be to be held or caressed, maybe even be pinned down by them.

_And that’s where it all goes wrong._

The problem is that it’s no longer innocent. He’s craving for this kid, yearning for their subtle touches during practice. There is little point in denying Clint’s attraction, but he'd best learn to keep his distance.

Because this is so _wrong_ and this kid is _so young._

He’s too young and Clint cannot overlook the fact that he’s about 15 years older than this kid. So, he does his _damned hardest_ not to think of Pietro that way, since his little box of sinful urges are getting harder and harder to keep hidden away and not actually act on them.

The kid is in no way making it at all easy for him.

“You going to Stark’s party?” Pietro asks him casually as he passes Clint a bottle of water. Clint smiles gratefully and pats the bench beside him as an invitation.

“Hm, probably. Why? Afraid to actually mingle with your teammates?” Clint jokes and then chuckles as the kid slumps against him.

“No,” The kid rolls his eyes at the archer. “Perhaps I just prefer your company.” He playfully smiles and leans his chin on Clint’s shoulder, looking up at his face brightly. _Like I said, the kid is not making it easy for him._

“Don’t go soft on me now, snowball” Clint clears his throat at their proximity and takes a sip of his water. Suddenly, it seems like a very bad idea to actually show up at that party at all.

“Won’t your sister be there as well?” He deflects and thankfully; the kid lifts his chin to whine.

“Probably, with Robocop.” He scoffs and throws his now-empty water bottle in the bin. Clint observed his annoyed expression and ruffles his already tousled hair.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.” The older snickers and is given a glare and a little shove in his ribs by the younger.

“No! I’m just..protective.” He explains while Clint is rubbing his side with a whine of his own.

“Possessive.” Clint argues and Pietro looks like he wants to sell him another shove but then regards him for a moment, the kid’s eyebrows leap upwards and his eyes sparkle bright with interest. Clint bit his lip and cursed himself inwardly, wishing he could pluck the words from the air and swallow them back down his throat.

“You betcha,” he finally says hotly, and holds Clint’s horrified gaze. The knot in the archer’s belly returned at the barely contained hunger in the kid’s voice.

“C’mon punk,” He says softly as he gestures towards the exit.  

Against his own better judgement, Clint ends up going to Stark’s party.

\----x

Stark’s party is, as usual, extravagant and over the top. Champagne is being tossed around like nobody’s business; orbs of light in many shades lit the room with their warm, colorful glow;lots of expensive food imported from too many _goddamn_ countries being escorted around the room on silver platters. [For god's sake, Stark!], and Clint swears he’s even seen an ice statue of Iron fucktard.

“Why isn’t it melting?” Clint asks with a frown spreading across his face as he tilts his head to the side in internal conflict.

Natasha shakes her head at him but gives a soft chuckle. “The real question is, of course, why aren’t we making it melt?” She sees her best friend’s face light up out of the corner of her eyes and gives a him a challenging smirk.

“Don’t you dare, birdman!” The archer hears Stark yell at him from the other end of the room and Clint crosses his arms in disappointment.

“They never let me have any fun.” He mumbles while Natasha only snickers, sipping a bit of her champagne.

“Might as well get drunk then.” She reasons, and Clint laughs at her fondly.

“You been doing okay, Nat?” he asks carefully and tucks her short hair behind her ear.

“Don’t cuddle me, Barton.” She scoffs but gives him a grateful smile at the sweet gesture and then hushes Clint again when he opens his mouth to argue. _“_ I’ll get things sorted out.”

Clint examines her face for a moment before sipping his own champagne. _Ugh, bitter._ He sighs and leans his elbow on the table between them as he rests his face on the palm of his hand. “Barton, please stop looking at me with those sad puppy eyes.” she sighs and Clint smiles reluctantly.

“Want me to kick his ass?” He suggests with a sly grin while she glances back at him with a soften expression. “If you can find his ass.” She sighs and copies Clint’s previous movements, leaning her face on her own palm as she watches him.

“This isn’t like you, Tasha,” Clint sighs in return as he observes her expression. “Come on, you’re Natasha fucking Romanoff. You don’t mope, especially not over some guy. You’re so much better than that,” he reminds her and she gives him a small smile. “That’s more like it,” he winks, feeling quite pleased with himself and looks around the room. “I’m gonna look around some more, kay?”

Tasha smiles almost knowingly. “Alright, loverboy,” she teases and Clint raises his eyebrow at her but she waves it off, telling him to just go already and Clint ultimately does what she tells him to, as always.    

He’s gently sipping his champagne as he’s not quite sure where to look, since it’s all so grand and huge. Alright, he’s gotta admit that Stark went all out and the place looks absolutely beautiful, but in all its beauty, Clint’s eyes cannot help but land on a familiar sight and he cannot contain the smile spreading across his face. _Why hello there._

He catches Pietro by himself, he hasn’t spotted Clint yet, which gives the man the opportunity to just watch and appreciate his features. Maybe it’s the champagne or perhaps Clint’s gone mad already, _probably_ , but he’s completely captivated by every inch of him. He observes that Pietro’s bottom lip is stuck out and then follows the youngster’s gaze, which leads him to the kid’s sister. Ah…

Clint cannot help but let out a chuckle as he walks over toward the poor boy to gently nudge his shoulder. “Robocop, huh?” Clint teases, and Pietro growls in annoyance.

“Can I shoot him?” he asks the archer, his gaze never leaving his sister. Clint chuckles and shakes his head amused.

“Not in public.” Clint says, and Pietro finally looks over to him and immediately his eyes seem to visibly lighten up, and the scorn on his face is quickly replaced with a boyish smile.

“Hi,” the kid grins down at him. (much to Clint’s own frustration)

“Hi,” Clint repeats, with a fond chuckle. The speedster’s eyes never leave him and he can just feel that grin widening.

“You look nice,” he starts and Clint blinks up in surprise. “You know, for an old man.” The kid finishes the quip and Clint looks up to him to see that _goddamn_ widened, devilish smirk just like he predicted. _Bastard._

Clint rolls his eyes at the younger and sips his drink carelessly, intentionally moving away from Pietro and cannot help but smirk at the boy’s predictable reaction.

“Hey-hold on!” The kid calls out in anxiety and Clint swears he saw some _blue_ as the kid’s hand is launched and wrapped around his palm, and it feels like Clint is struck by lightning, almost dropping his precious champagne. _However_ , the hand is lowered to delicately trace the back of Clint’s with the back of his own, _slowing down._ Clint treasures his tenderness and marvels at Pietro’s cautious, but soft smile.

“If you wanted my attention, kid, all you had to do is ask,” he jokes, but his voice is kind. Pietro loosens up noticeably, as the wicked grin has found its way back to his lips and it characterizes the boy almost instantly.

Pietro speaks up but is drowned out by a few deafening taps on a microphone that echo around the room. With a twist of his lips, Clint shrugs as Stark struts like a peacock up on the stage while Pietro slithers up on him, his mind fixed on Clint's muscular shoulder, gently nibbling the cloth and the skin below, peeking up at him through dark strands, gaining Clint’s undivided attention in an instant.

“Wanna get outta here?” Pietro whispers alluringly, and Clint can feel his cheeks blossom at the sensation.

**He shouldn’t.**

“Yeah…okay,” he nods a daze, and Pietro smiles against his shoulder, taking his hand back and leading him out of the ballroom quietly but unable to muffle his giggles.

_Dammit, he’s fucked._

He thinks, but it’s all a blur as the champagne is rising to his head; stumbles after the speedster as he’s pulled along carelessly. However, Clint cannot help but feel like a teenager again as they sneak away into the night and Pietro’s giggles are somewhat infectious.

Or perhaps Clint is just _drunk._

\----x

Clint steps onto the balcony where they finally end up and he takes in its surroundings, and it’s just as magnificent as inside with lights flickering, making the atmosphere almost romantic. Or maybe Clint is just being carried away because of that imported champagne?

Either way, it’s still very _dangerous_ territory if you ask Clint. Though, he isn’t sure what this kid actually wants from him. Is he just as infatuated with Clint as the archer is with him? Or is the kid just being his usual self and trying to fuck up his mind? That seems the most likely case between the two of them.

Clint leans over the railing of the balcony, his hip cocked to the side, and cannot help but sigh at the view of city lights in front of him. He almost forgets that he has company and startles as Pietro steps onto the balcony with him and wraps his arm around Clint’s waist.

“Careful, don’t lean over too much,” Pietro softly whispers, and pulls him back a little from the balcony’s edge. “I don’t want you to fall,” he pauses, a sly smile growing that nothing good can come from.

“Who else am I gonna torment during training sessions, huh?” he laughs, but Clint only feels provoked by his mannerism.

“I do crazy ass shit every day, even before you were born and you’re concerned I will fall off this goddamn balcony?” Clint lectures him, and purposely leans off the edge just a tiny bit more to inflame the kid further.

“Fine, go ahead. You’re best years are behind you anyway. Do your thing, be you,” Pietro grimaces and throws his hands up in the air as though that would make him seem even more unsympathetic.

The slightly intoxicated archer knits his brows at the lack of compassion and calls out in dissatisfaction. “You wouldn’t care if I would fall down to my death?”

 _“_ Nope, I hope you do!” Pietro screeches back at him but a snicker escapes his mouth and but Clint contains the uplifting of his own lips.

“Well, if you don’t seem to care,” he shrugs, and when Clint finally pushes himself off the railing, and is in the process of walking past him, Pietro softly calls out.

“Widen it.”

Clint glances at him, perplexed, unsure what the kid is asking of him.

“You’re gonna fall on your ass otherwise, widen it,” he insists that sly smirk of his before he kicks Clint’s legs apart, and Pietro makes his move by pressing him forcefully against the nearest wall.

 **Shit**.

The speedster presses his own legs between his, and now Pietro’s so close that their chests are touching, and his fingers are sliding into Clint’s hair, to the back of his head. He’s locking in his prey but, his hands are surprisingly gentle. God, those fingers. Clint doesn’t know how it’s possible for a person to feel all the things at once that he’s feeling right now. There’s astonishment, awe and eagerness but also worry, uneasiness and slight terror. His whole body is in a state of great turmoil as he trembles at the feel of Pietro’s caress.

The boy doesn’t say anything, but his features soften just a bit, tracing the archer’s cheek and coaxing him further up against the wall. Clint doesn’t want to let out that gasp but there’s no stopping it and it brings a smile from Pietro, who’s in the process looking at Clint like he’s the most dreamy thing on the planet, followed up by him stroking Clint’s cheek with his thumb. Clint sighs at his touch and leans in, his lips brushing against the kid’s palm.

**Double shit.**

He’s never seen Pietro like this before, cocksure, yes, but overbearing and doting was something new entirely. Clint reaches out to his face, checking for the kid’s permission carefully, but the speedster just smiles and meets him halfway, Clint’s hand now gently exploring the kid’s jawline.

He seems to relish at the feel of Clint’s hand, like he’s been touch starved for ages, and perhaps he has. Pietro gently takes it with his own, bring it to his lips and kisses the archer’s knuckles softly, his eyes never leaving Clint’s. Like he wants Clint to know, yes, I _feel it_ too and yes, I’ve been _aching._

“Why’d you do it?”

It’s out before Clint can stop himself, but the kid keeps brushing his lips against his knuckles, the archer feels a bit of stubble against his hand in the process. The air around them feels hot and thick, and Clint feels like he’s going to burn to death, he’s sure of it, his skin feels like fire.

“Do what?” Pietro asks in a husk, his hand moving back up to play with the archer’s short hair. Pietro’s eyes are soft and warm but never without mischief and playfulness.

“Why’d you save me that day?” he follows through, and Pietro quirks his eyebrows at him. He pulls back reluctantly, his head cocked to the side. And just when Clint was convinced that the kid isn’t going to give him an answer, and is about to drop it, the kid surprises him.

“Because of your humanity.” he says unquestionably, and it catches Clint by surprise. “You’re fighting alongside all of these mighty gods, including me of course.”

He winks but his eyes remain tender, _“Yet here you are,”_ he whispers softly and Clint peers up at the young man. When Pietro pauses to swallow down the tightness in his throat, Clint nods, urging him on.

“Trying to shield this kid with your own body- and I couldn’t…” He stops, taking a deep breath as he shields himself from Clint’s searching eyes by looking down.

“Pietro?”

“I just had to,” he says once more, and Clint swallows to nullify the sandpapery feel of the roof of his mouth “And because you had an ass worth saving, of course,” he smirks, but his expression was less sure and it wavered for a moment when Clint met his gaze.

Silence descended upon them, interrupted only by the sound of Stark's meaningless chatter amplified by the microphone. They both cast their eyes elsewhere. Clint’s thought process shudders to an abrupt halt when the other withdraws slightly, but Clint doesn’t want him to.

He pulls him back by his sleeve and closes his arms around him. The other gasps and Clint himself almost chokes on the warm scent of Pietro’s skin - something he had only caught whiffs of before, but now found himself surrounded by as he envelopes the kid into a tight embrace.

“What are you..?“ Pietro chokes out, his face lowered and buried against Clint chest, his arms hanging useless at his sides, probably paralyzed by shock.

“Shut up, kid” Clint bit out, slightly rough, but nuzzles his face in the other’s hair. “Shut up and let me thank you.” He hears the other making a small whine which makes Clint tighten the embrace even more and chuckles at the awkward pats on his back he receives from the youngster.

Pietro is finally able to laugh in his ear, but surprises him with a kiss on the soft flutter of his pulse.

“You’re quite welcome.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna hang out? You know where to go: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xmisschloe


	5. Nearing the brink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don't do this to us." He warned, Pietro’s voice hoarse with angry desperation, Clint’s heart is slamming frantically in his chest, and it's too much. He feels his resolve crumbling, while Pietro overwhelms him, flashing forward to cover the small distance between them.
> 
> But he is water and I am forbidden to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! I've been busy with tons of things, I just hope you'll enjoy this chapter just as much as the other.
> 
> Warning: MalexMale sexual interactions ahead.

_Damn the curse of chemicals._

Damn you. Goddamn you all to hell. There’s gotta be some mistake, a huge error in his system. Because the worst possible thing that ever could have happened, happend.

_He’s sweet on Pietro._

Clint can’t remember the last time he was ever _that_ sweet on somebody. Clint likes to think of himself as a logical, in control-of-my-own feelings kind of guy, but there’s something beautiful about _him._

Yes, he’s an overconfident, foreign son of a bitch who makes his blood boil at least sixteen times a day with that overly thick accent of his, but…

There is something so _beautiful_ about this boy.

With a quick lip and a fierce tongue, the sort of tongue that draws you in with charm and drives you utterly insane at times, but even the mere thought of him keeps the archer up at night. He’s an compelling guy, it’s like his heart had chosen its path, and couldn't be led in any other direction.

Clint’s _fucked_. He realizes he’s all sorts of fucked. When he dreams at night, it’s of Pietro. When he daydreams and thinks during the day, it’s of goddamn Pietro, and it’s wrong in every sense of the word.

His unhealthy, unnatural obsession with this kid is getting out of control, and makes him feel like some kind of pervert. The kid had taken over his dreams, his thoughts, and occupied every corner of his mind.

The man’s scent, all musk and spice, literally made Clint’s knees weak and his palms sweaty. He remembers being cornered and overpowered by those broad arms, towering over the archer and being surrounded by all that musk and Clint had _liked_ it.

He shouldn’t, he should be upset about the fact that he was overthrown that easily, no matter how intoxicated his mind was that night, instead. Instead, his imagination is running away with him, taking him places where he should stay clear from at all times. Often going back to _that night._

_Pietro using his size to its advantage, slamming Clint even further up against the wall. Pinning his arms behind his head, to the point where Clint has literally nowhere to go and is forced to be utterly at Pietro’s mercy, he covers Clint completely, holding him down just with the width of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, his arms tight and possessive around Clint’s willing body, and just starts... grinding against him. Steady and slow at first. Clint can already imagine Pietro’s hands on him, pushing him back, holding him still, making him take it._

_“You’re all mine, I could do anything I wanted to you…”_ _Pietro whispering nonsense into his ear, hot searing kisses pressed along his cheek and lips as he bucks up harder and relentlessly, rubbing himself against Clint’s hips, selfishly easing the ache in his pants and fuelling that delicious friction. Clint buries his face in his neck while throaty moans escape his parted lips at those now-messy thrusts rolling against his own pulsing member._

_“Pietro…”_

_Their hips set an unsteady rhythm, the archer being finally allowed to lower his arms and wrap them around the kid’s neck, as the speedster lifts him and rolls those devious hips like a man possessed. They’re snarling under their breath like a couple of animals as they seek for their release._

_“Fuck… fuck.”_

Fuck.

The prospect of Pietro finding out about Clint’s little secret has him feeling restless and agitated.

He needs to stop getting these filthy thoughts inside of his head but, he does not know _how_. There are too many questions and too many answers he isn't ready to hear. Clint cannot trust himself around this kid anymore and because of that, they haven’t had a proper conversation ever since that night.

It’s not Pietro who’s the blame, who had reached out to him with that same doting gaze in his eyes the next day, but Clint couldn’t meet those idolizing orbs directed at him. Because all he could see was Pietro’s face as it’d been hovering over him; the way his blue eyes almost looked black because his pupils had been so blown…

It was a constant battle not to turn his head in Pietro’s direction; but every time he did, The kid was looking over at him. Each time he’d smile, Clint would jerk his gaze away.

It goes as far that Clint purposely starts to avoid him after training sessions, catching the disappointment evident on the kid’s face each time. He’ll be alright, Clint keeps telling himself, tries to _convince_ himself it’s for their own good. So, until he can get a hold of himself and get a grip, he has to keep his distance.

This has worked out perfectly fine until he finds himself _stuck_ on a mission with the Maximoff twins.

The objective is to invade the enemy’s forces, neutralize the alarms and finally, to hack into their system from within. The twins are to release any remaining hostages inside the fortress and escort them outside, while’s Clint’s objective lies deeper within: Gathering hidden, valuable information that might contain Hydra secrets.

“Alright, kids, first mission. Remember what you learned during all those training sessions and you’ll be fine. You’ve been working towards this and Cap wouldn’t have let you come along if you weren’t ready, try and remember that. ” Clint says, while drawing a little map in the snow to help repeat the plan.

“You two focus on getting those hostages outta there safe and sound, while I neutralize the defense system. Our meeting point is at the helicraft, if anything goes astray, report and get out of there. I’ll meet up later. Capiche?” Clint explains like the old-timer he is, looking over to _Wanda._

She gives him a firm nod, but to her side, he sees Pietro simply _peering_ at him behind fallen bangs with his arms crossed. His face remains reticent, but the usual warm glow in his eyes are nowhere to be found, instead, he finds them cold and distant. He continues to stare, and Clint’s jaw tenses, he tries to shut his brain off, but to little avail.

He just knows Pietro is agitated with him, and it’s a fretful feeling. Having those cold eyes stare right through him, knowing the kid resents him for pushing him away, punishing the kid for coming too close to his harddrive. He knows he’s being unfair, and he wishes he could just tell him why he has taken a step back, that it’s really the best thing to do for the both of them, but the kid wouldn’t accept that. On the contrary, the thickheaded child would probably do quite the opposite, and pursue the archer even more like the little shit he is.

“We’ll contact you when we have completed our mission.” Clint hears Wanda speak, looking at him for reassurance and waking him from his personal conflict. The archer nods, giving her a small smile as she takes the lead towards the fortress. Rather for Pietro to dash after her, he remains and finally peers up at the anxious archer.

Clint’s a bundle of nerves.

“Shouldn’t you run along?” Clint asks him, still not meeting the kid’s eyes. _Suddenly_ , Pietro walks over to him, forcing him to meet his piercing gaze.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He states, with a deep frown on his young face. He’s hovering over him and it makes Clint want to stand wider, broaden himself to establish his _not_ forgotten manliness and pride, but his body betrays his mind as his knees feel weak and a shiver runs down his spine at the domineering sight.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid.” He lies, clutching his bow in his own bewilderment. Already bewitched by this kid in a matter of seconds.

“Stop that, I’m no fucking kid.” He snarls, clearly sore about how he’s being tossed aside like an old shoe and Clint cannot even blame him for that.

“Pietro, this isn’t the place or time for this.” Clint mumbles, and looks down in favor of his timer. He can feel Pietro’s eyes burning on his face but then in a flash- _he’s gone._

_He wanted to give him everything the boy craved, but he was something the archer could never have._

Clint bites his lip, watching after that trail of blue. He stops letting himself look visibly hurt when it dissolves. What he felt on the  _inside_ was irrelevant right now, _he needs to get going._

 

\---x

He’s about done with uploading the information to his USB flash drive when he hears Wanda calling out to him through his earpiece.

“Clint, we got them out, but we need to go, our presence has been detected!” She tells him, and she seems to be out of breathe.

“Alright, great. Get outta here, I’ll catch up soon.” He tells her, while he keeps his eyes on the screen. _Error._ Fuck, he thinks to himself and tries again, only to be locked out of the system entirely.

“Shit!” He curses, and alarms go off around the room, filling the area with red and Clint knows he needs to get outta here himself before reinforcements will enter, forcing Clint to fight his way out of the fortress.

“Clint, there’s no time. You need to get out of there, the whole place is coming down in minutes.” She explains, and Clint’s jaw drops. _You’ve got to be kidding me._

“How the hell did you two manage that, huh?” He scolds like an agitated father, as he keeps trying to hack the system. “I leave you two alone for what? 15 minutes? And you wreck the place? So much for secrecy.” He yells over the loud alarm, hearing footsteps at the other end of the door.

“Look, I’m unable to leave my position yet, you go on without me. I’ll catch up.” Clint absently talks to his earpiece. _Error, error, error._ Oh for fuck sake! There’s no time, he can feel the place crumbling around him and those footsteps are gradually getting louder.

Seriously, Don’t they have anywhere better to go? Like _outside?_ Clint groans at the predicament he finds himself in _yet again._

“Clint,”

Abruptly, Pietro’s voice pierces through everything around him, making Clint tense up immediately, a flutter in his stomach at the stern voice and Clint bites his lip, stopping his tracks almost like he’s forbidden to do anything else but to listen to that disciplining voice.

“You get out of there now or else I’m going to come and get you.” He says with a sharp edge and there’s no usual playfulness or teasing to be found, the kid sounds dead serious and Clint feels the blood drain out of his face.

“Pietro, hush. Go with your sister.” Clint argues, finally hacking back into their system (thank god) and locating the valuable files he was looking for this whole time.

“Not without you.” Pietro says, and Clint wishes it didn’t pull at his heartstrings the way it did.

“You told me you wanted to protect her, didn’t you?” Clint grits out with a scowl, and mentally celebrates at the uploaded files onto his little USB flash drive.

“Clint-“ Pietro starts but the archer cuts him off.

“Pietro…it’s okay.” He softens, while quickly reaching out to his bow as hears banging coming from the other end of the sealed door. Finally, the door opens to reveal an immense amount of grunts, pointing their guns at the archer. Yes, it’s bad, but what’s even worse is seeing the walls around him crumble in front of his very eyes. _All in a day’s job._

 _”I’m coming to get yo-“_ Pietro calls out, Clint wants to keep listening to their intercom, but sadly, their connection is lost.

Not having time to give it any further thought, he dives behind a nearby desk, dodging the bullets fired at him. He counters, firing off his exploding and _favorite_ arrow at the incoming shooters, his arrows zipping and hissing through the air. Clint can hear some of the men sobbing and sniveling with fear and pain, ensuring his clear passage to safety.

_Yay!_

And causing the passage to collapse right in front of his eyes.

_Nay!_

Clint curses, and realizes he has to make haste, almost dropping on his ass at the vibrations around him. This place is coming down and if he lingers he will be along its rubbles. His trained, eagle eyes searching for an alternate passage, locking in his new way out. Though, when he’s about to move, he’s deafened by a single, loud roar from a man’s assault rifle punctuated his call like an exclamation point.

“I know you’re in here.”

“Step out from behind the desk,” the guy says. “let me kill you quick.”

Clint wants to practically scream at his level of intelligence, but keeps it to a low groan.

“Don’t you have places to go?” Clint yells from behind his desk, readying his bow and arrow. Which seems to be irrelevant now as the room has started to degenerate, making his escape more urgent each passing second. Three rounds of gunfire sent splinters flying and polluted the room’s air with even more dust. Clint ducked back behind his cover, the gun smoke and sawdust irritated his lungs so badly he couldn’t help but to cough.

“Ah not to worry, I love me some close calls.” Clint weakly chuckles with a hoarse throat. He makes brief eye contact with his opponent, before he fires a windstorm of arrows, skirling and sizzling through the collapsing room. He hears the man screaming out in agony and it’s his cue to leave the scene.

He dashes forward towards the exit, surging forward to saver ground as the floor underneath him is starting to disappear. One step forward-then another. _Advancing. Advancing._

A shot is fired, and _Clint falls_.

There’s a **saline** taste of blood in his mouth, for a second he feels numb. His heart thumping and a spritz of blood spouted into the air as his legs fail to carry him any longer.

He barely has the strength to look over his shoulder to see the man smirking at him, he too is on the ground, coughing up some blood with an arrow through his chest. He sees the man laugh through his bloodied teeth before he’s extinguished by the decaying ceiling, collapsing on top of him.

_Good riddance._

Clint cries out in agonizing pain, reaching out to his injured leg. Brazier-red blood **spraying** from his fresh wound, finding a bullet pierced deep into his skin. He searches around the room for just anything that might help him, but he can only watch as the place falls apart.

_End of the line._

It’s painfully obvious and his mind cannot help but to immediately travel to Pietro. He closes his eyes and thinks about that roguish, smug grin of his. Those piercing, sky blue orbs, the way the corner of his left eye crinkles slightly more than the right one when the kid smiles. The way he speaks overly fast and loud when talking about something he’s passionate about, and remembers the feel of gentle hands and small fluttering kisses against his heated skin.

_Forgive me._

_Forgive me for the places we never went but where we both ached to wander._

He could just feel those large hands caressing his cheek tenderly, making him whimper at the pleasure, taking him away from this place.

“Clint,”

_Forgive me._

“Clint, it’s me. Open your eyes.”

Pietro? He knows that voice by heart and his eyes flutter open and freezes as he meets the kid’s concerned gaze. The kid’s-no, the man’s large, callused hand _actually_ stroking down his cheek.

“You’re hurt.” He hovers over him, glaring down at the archer’s wounded leg almost painfully, but quickly squats down to pick the archer up from underneath his legs and presses him close and protectively to his chest, forcing Clint’s cheek being pressed against the speedster’s toned body, Clint is too weakened to make a protest or smart comment.

“Kid…” Clint scolds him, but a shaky smile embracing his features.

“Hush.” Pietro finishes with such an unbearable, gentle tone of voice, then granting him a soft kiss against his short hair, telling him to hold on tight as he flashes them out of the falling fortress.

“It’s a necessity to protect you too.”

\---x

_I close my eyes, then I drift away, into the magic night I softly say. A silent prayer, like dreamers do, then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you._

It’s difficult to keep up.

The hospital room is completely empty, save for them. He feels feverish, there’s a constant rushing in his head, sweat dripping down his heated body as if he’d just had the longest workout of his life. He sits up from his hospital bed and he’s surprised that he _is able to_. There are is no gaping wound in his leg – no pain to be found. How long has he _been_ here?

“Pietro?” Clints calls out quietly, watching him cautiously while panting softly.

“Don’t ever do that again.” Pietro voices roughly, a ferocious storm rages in his eyes. His words hit Clint like a blast of frozen wind. Pietro holds his gaze and then steps forward, Clint doesn’t move; just watches with hesitancy in his eyes.

“Kid…” Clint whispers, sounding as unnerved and vulnerable as he feels.

“Stop that,” Pietro hisses, clearly frustrated. “Stop downplaying me, stop downplaying us. I’m no fucking kid,there is no pretending.”

“Let’s stop kidding ourselves.”

Clint shuts his eyes to avoid looking at the naked hungry in the speedster’s eyes, he doesn’t want to acknowledge that hunger, those raw emotions. He wants to stay in his self-made utopia where he doesn’t have to deal with these unholy feelings, he wasn't sure what was happening, but his heart was beating faster and his body felt alight with nerves.

_He want to devour me. Yet I yearn to trace the outlines of his features - he wish to consume me. And the more I take steps back, the more he strides forward, and it makes me want him more._

_But he is water and I am forbidden to drink._

“Don't do this to us." He warned, Pietro’s voice hoarse with angry desperation, Clint’s heart is slamming frantically in his chest, and it's _too_ much. He feels his resolve crumbling, while Pietro overwhelms him, flashing forward to cover the small distance between them.

He slams Clint against the end of his narrow bed, grabbing Clint’s face in his hands and crushing their lips together. The archer’s eyes immediately close and his hands fly up to clutch Pietro’s wrists, as if to shove him away. But Pietro is using his larger and heavier bulk to press down against the man underneath him and all Clint is able to do is to clutch his face and _hold on._ Pietro’s dominating the kiss and Clint can only blindly follow. The kisses are open-mouthed but chaste, desperate. It deepens, and Clint groans shakily when the strong arms tighten around his body. The speedster presses down harder and Clint legs fall open on their own accord, welcoming the young man between his legs.

“Give in to me…” The younger man pants between their heated kisses, their rough breathing is the only sound that fills the room as the hips above him grind down, stealing Clint’s breath away while his own uncontrollable body bucks at the contact. The speedster adjusts his hips until they're properly lined up, and then he _rocks._

 _It’s absolutely delicious_.

His legs find themselves wrapped around Pietro’s waist, hands grasping blindly at the other’s broad shoulders. Pietro licks his swollen lips and Clint groans underneath him, twisting his hips with his thrusts. Pietro growls atop him and lets his arms buckle so that he's pressing his complete weight down on top of his archer, desperately trying to be as close as humanly possible. _He is salvation and Clint is nearing the brink._

“Clint..”

Clint’s is only half listening to the rumbling words being whispered hotly into his ear. Moaning at the applied pressure as Pietro runs  _that_ large calloused hand down his pale thigh, disappearing underneath the archer’s soft blanket, fondling Clint’s aching member. That hand is doing utterly sinful things to him while Clint’s mouth falls open to let out a shaky gasp, and pleasure dancing up his spine. He wants it, he wants _him_.

His authority over his urges are completely vanished into thin air, and all he can think about is how he’s yearning for the man to just spread him open, to take him and to never let him go, filling the empty ache, rooted deep inside of him. He’s throwing his head back, grunting and panting, and his back rises and falls from the bed. His legs squirm uselessly, thighs trembling, as the kid moves up his pace while kissing his throat and rubbing himself on Clint’s bare thigh.

“Clint…”

Pietro pleads breathlessly and his voice is like liquid sin. Clint’s vision is all blurred from the moisture in his eyes and his heat haze, but he groans feverishly against the kid’s lips.

_Clint thought it was enough – cherishing him from afar, simply knowing that he also does, returning the affection covertly._

_But it was not._

_It was far from enough._

“Clint please…”

 _The truth is, you are in love with him. You tell yourself otherwise but you deeply,_ _painstakingly, and undeniably are._

“Wake up.”

\---x

_Wake up_

His eyes fluttering open and brain sluggishly trying to process his surroundings. There's a possessive arm thrown over his bare waist, warm and heavy. His leg is aching, and it’s difficult for him to even shift slightly. When he’s finally successful, he sees a ball of tousled white hair pillowed on Clint’s chest. A puddle of drool evident around the man’s mouth and Clint’s chest.

_Lovely._

His stirring must have caused the man to waken as he grumbles and rubs his eyes, before finally looking up, his blurred, sky-blue eyes widening in surprise as he meets Clint’s wondering ones. He has bags underneath those eyes of his, looking like he hasn’t been able to get some proper rest for days.

Pietro _, his Pietro_ completely obvious.

The kid ultimately gives him a small, mischievous smile. “Hey there, old timer.”

His voice is reluctant in concern, but his eyes are doting and warm. Though the relieved, affectionate smile he’s giving Clint, makes even his eyes pale in comparison.

 _He is air and I am not allowed to breathe_.

“It’s okay, you’ve been asleep for a long time,” he explains, worry in his voice increasing because of Clint’s unbearable silence. “It’s okay. I’m here,” Pietro finds his hand, laces their fingers together.

“I got you covered.”

_Their shared, longing kisses…now merely the shadow of a dream._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it wasn't clear enough: They haven't actually kissed yet, Clint was dreaming and wakes up in the last scene with a completely obvious Pietro.
> 
> If anyone is interested being a beta-reader for this story, please reach out to me. I'd like someone to look over each chapter before I post it here, maybe point out a few things? 
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xmisschloe


	6. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint opens his eyes grudgingly and the bright light of the room blinds him. He shields his eyes and tries to retreat into his warm cocoon of sleep, but it's too late. He’s already awake and there is no turning back now, so he opens his eyes again. The room looks cold, impersonal, with its light green walls and its white, clean furniture. Everything is clean. Too clean. And too cold. Everything looks like it has been abandoned, like nobody has been here for ages.
> 
> Except for one.
> 
> “Morning, old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I'm truly sorry that it took so long for me to update this. I haven't forgotten this story at all, but I'm very busy with graduating and even finding the time to write. (which can be difficult too.) 
> 
> I'll try and be faster for the next chapter, no promises. Yet, I do hope you guys enjoy this, try and be patient with these boys just as well as me. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.s, huge thanks to my lovely and intelligent editor, love you to bits <3
> 
> -Kim

Just one more minute.

Clint can feel the sunlight trying to penetrate his closed eyelids. He must have overslept. The bed feels like a cocoon, wrapping its warm sheets around him, burying him in warm, fuzzy darkness. He’ll get up soon. Just one more minute.

Dreaming of him, the sweetest yet the most bitter of nightmares.

He dreams of gentle hands, their fingertips brushing his heated skin delicately. Like a lover’s touch, easing their partner’s distress with their tender comfort and earnest affection, easing Clint’s pain.

He dreams of a mischievous grin, of a playful twinkle, clearly evident in those smiling eyes. Unfortunately, Clint also dreams of bullet holes, piercing through strong muscle and lean limbs. He detects the swift change in those smiling eyes, suddenly harboring terror and fright alone.

Clint still gets those nightmares. In fact, he gets them so often he should be used to them by now.

He’s not.

No one ever really gets used to nightmares.

With every passing moment his sleepy mind reluctantly notices something strange. How the sheets feel thin and stiff, not like his sheets at all. How his body aches when he moves. How his throat burns, feeling as dry as a desert. And that noise: A steady, pulsing beep, knocking at his mind’s door, like a Jehovah's witness, refusing to be ignored.

Clint opens his eyes grudgingly and the bright light of the room blinds him. He shields his eyes and tries to retreat into his warm cocoon of sleep, but it's too late. He’s already awake and there is no turning back now, so he opens his eyes again. The room looks cold, impersonal, with its light green walls and its white, clean furniture. Everything is clean. Too clean. And too cold. Everything looks like it has been abandoned, like nobody has been here for ages.

Except for one.

“Morning, old man.”

The bluest eyes hiding their soft gaze behind white bangs of messy hair. A smile covered underneath a supporting hand and an amused snicker meddling its way into that foreign accent. All of it is Pietro and he is all Clint needs to remember his current whereabouts.

The archer had quickly learned that Pietro never left his side, not since the day he was brought in. It has not escaped his notice that the kid remains at his bedside at all times, day or night; it does not seem to matter, whenever Clint awakens from his slumber, he’s there.

He’s there when Clint feverishly awakens from his delirious dreams soaked in his own sweat. Pietro’s there to wipe it off his forehead, gently coaxing him back down his bed. When Clint’s gun wound causes him painful agony, he feels the kid’s hand slip into his own, allowing the archer to squeeze it so painfully hard that it gets to the point where Clint is certain he might have crushed it.

But most notably, he’s there brushing Clint’s short hair back when the archer feigns a deep slumber, mumbling gentle praises in a foreign tongue that Clint fails to understand, but god he wishes he could.

He wants to decipher every lullaby softly sung to him each night, while he’s getting his hair stroked back and when he is certain the other is smiling down at him by just hearing the sound of his voice. Clint wishes to unravel every word that is being tenderly bestowed upon him, only to be heard at night’s darkest hour. Only then is it when Pietro feels safe enough to embrace him with the comfort of his mysterious lullabies.

Clint never mentions it, never asks him about those sweet sounding lullabies and whispers deep into the night. He desires not to have these thoughts, to think of these feelings as if they are just a passing fancy. That Pietro’s voice isn’t like his favorite song, it’s not, it’s better. His voice is unforgettable, but when Clint thinks of it in his head, he cannot ever seem to get it right and constantly finds himself wanting to hear at least one word slip from Pietro’s mouth whenever the room is filled with grieving silence. Whenever Clint fears that he’s denied his voice for the rest of the night, Pietro fills his ears and his brain with soft words that fill him with bliss. Giving him the feeling of wholeness no other voice has done before.

His voice is the only song that he would always listen to.

Clint doesn’t want to say “I’m hopelessly in love with you,” god knows he’s fighting it every goddamn step of the way, but damn he thinks he is.

He most certainly is.

He knows it, but instead he pleads not to be affected by those tempting symphonies. 

Yet he _certainly_ is.

Just as he was affected by being lifted into strong, capable arms.

His head being cradled by Pietro’s large hand, being pressed against that firm chest, those arms wrapped tightly around him, safely getting him out of that falling fortress. The knight in shining armor, the fearless hero, but more than anything…

The foolish boy. 

Pietro’s foolishness is more than being stupid, it’s a deadly combination of arrogance and ignorance. It infuriates the archer for having to deal with his stupidity of trying to endanger himself for Clint yet again. Though, sense seems to be lost to him as of late.

There is just something magical in the way he looks at Clint, something that makes the archer smile. Making Clint forgive this boy for everything he could ever have possibly done in an instant, his usually unbreakable resolve crumbling down fast. While Pietro is giving him his usual smug smile, nevertheless, there’s an undeniable warmth settled in that gaze he’s giving the archer and whenever Clint catches it, he forgets everything he was going to say, everything he was heated about. And yet again, his voice, is calming down all the voices in Clint’s head. His deep voiced laugh giving him goosebumps each time.

“Hey,” Pietro said affectionately, stretching up to squeeze Clint’s arm, catching his attention. The archer tilted his head to look at the young speedster.

Pietro had become very fond of being affectionate, to the point of being handsy even, in Clint’s opinion. The archer wasn’t sure if it was because of his concern over Clint’s recovery or just the plain playfulness the kid always seemed to have carried with him. Not that Clint could complain. He liked affectionate. He enjoyed handsy, but he despised himself for it each time he did.

“Having those naughty thoughts about me again?” Pietro pursed his lips in amusement. There’s no knowing gaze, just playful banter and yet it doesn’t cease the blush evident on Clint’s cheeks.

There’s not many words Clint could use to describe his charm and good looks. It’s ethereal, never ending, unmatched. _Unnerving._

“You shouldn’t be here.” Clint declares, sitting up slightly. Even though he’s distracted by his charm and good looks, Clint realizes that Pietro has no particular reason to stay around so often.

A simple teammate in the same situation would come by to check up on the other once in a while, maybe send a fruit basket saying something like: “Sorry you got hit by my _glorious_ hammer, though you were standing in the way, try not to do that again, birdman.” Clint knows, however, that they have grown far from being just regular teammates. It’s toxic, Clint doesn’t know what’s worse, pretending he doesn’t think about Pietro every single day, or that he’s thinking about him period.

_He'll always be that thin blue line that Clint cannot cross._

“That’s not a nice way to thank me for saving your life.” Pietro chuckles softly, with no real heat behind those words. Yet, his eyes suddenly become slightly uncertain, no longer daring to hold Clint’s gaze.

“No, you _risked_ your life,” Clint argues, trying to remind the kid of their little balcony conversation. “You made a promise, kid.” He softens, unsure what to actually feel right now. He’s glad that he has his life of course, he’s unwelcomely giddy by Pietro never leaving his bedside, but more than anything, he’s completely restless and excruciatingly aching to clear his overfull head.

So, the only thing that’s left for him to do right now is, yet again, push him away.

“You gotta stop pulling that crap, I’m past my prime, I did my part and accidents like these happen, they happen every day in this line of work and are unavoidable.” The archer tries to explain, he desperately wants this kid to know that he’s got so much potential, that he shouldn’t endanger it for just anyone, especially not for an old timer like Clint.

“Yet they are,” Pietro says, surging forward, startling Clint and his whole body shaking, when Pietro crossed the room in a few strides to him. But, before he can say or do anything, Clint had placed a hand on his chest, trying to still himself and stopping Pietro from moving any closer. When the sudden sake finally subsided, Clint looked up at the kid. Pietro seeming to have found his confidence back as he locks their eyes, a determined look evident in that gaze.

“Some promises are meant to be broken, some rules should be bent. Especially if that leads to you still sitting here, safe with me.” Pietro continues, never breaking their gaze. He gently pushes Clint’s hand on his chest away. “Clint, come on…”

“You’re so young…” Clint whispers softly, unsure of what they are actually discussing right now. Yet, the younger seems so certain and sure about everything, clearly knowing what it is he wants, desires, and what he truly believes in. Clint cannot help but to envy him for it.

“Who cares?” Pietro says just as softly, calloused fingers brushed up along his skin and Clint shifted, drawing himself in further to Pietro with an unenthusiastic groan. Pietro’s fingers wandered. They stroked along the thin fabric of the tunic Clint is forced to wear, moving south to find the sharp edge of his hips and leaned in towards his lips, but never catches them. Instead, he brushes Clint’s forehead against his own, nose gently nudging against the other’s. Clint tips back his head for more breathing room as he inhaled deeply, relieving the scent Pietro carried with him, the musk and aroma that Clint has come to love, and when warm fingers trailed up along their flesh, he couldn’t suppress an eager quiver. A deep, appreciative rumble sounded in Pietro’s throat, Clint’s movement had left his eyelashes fluttering.

“Clint,” Pietro breathed against thick lips, and eyelids brushed open to let sky blue eyes search for Clint’s softer ones. Clint could feel the kid’s hot breath ghost over his own parted lips, refraining shortly from breathing through his nose as the speedster seemed to contemplate his next move.

Part of Clint simply wants to scream at him: _J_ _ust do it!_ _Say it! Because you know I cannot._ Because Clint knows he wants him, or at least Clint hopes he does and he want so badly to hear him say it.

But mostly, he can’t stand the thought, of Pietro telling him, and not being able to do anything about it.

“I do.” Clint says, his voice more steady and in control than before. He cannot allow himself to be consumed by him, by his scent and delicate touches. He refuses to be swept away like a leaf in the wind, he’s set on banishing these thoughts from his head. It causes Pietro to regard him with confusion and then for him to shake his head in disagreement. Clint sees the bitterness forming right in front of him and it makes his own heart clench in agony.

“I’m trying so hard to get some kind of emotion out of you. Because I know you’re starting to care about me, but you-” Pietro speaks up in remorse and Clint needs to interrupt him, for if Pietro actually voices his cravings, it will make all of this very real and Clint will not be able to force his own consuming desires back inside his safe little box.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about _, kid_.”Clint says quickly, retreating from the dangerous position close to Pietro’s face that sets him inflame. _Did he just hiss at him?_

“This fucking _kid,_ knows exactly what he’s talking about. It is you who is spatting out nonsense, not the other way around!” Pietro has raised his voice, as his body follows, raising up as he is evidently fed up with the archer. “You cannot deny the shiver that runs down your back when I caress your heated skin, the tremble in your voice when you whisper my name, or the quirk of your mouth when I enter the room. You cannot deny me this.” Pietro demands.

“Pietro, please-“ The archer’s heart is racing in his chest and he feels like he needs to punch something - maybe scream - and he doesn't know why.

 _“_ You didn’t think I noticed? That you were the only one aching?" Pietro starts pacing and shaking his head, breathing so roughly and casting Clint scowls every few seconds.

Clint’s throws his legs over his bed, which causes him excruciating pain, but marches towards him when he finally gains control over his legs, grabbing his arm to turn the body his way and stop Pietro’s pacing. It's only making the speedster more anxious.

“Don’t-“ The kid warns him. “Don’t try and pretend when you cannot even admit-“Pietro interrupts himself by making a pained sound that the archer has never heard before.

“I mean nothing to you.”

_He'll always be that thin blue line that Clint cannot cross._

But the problem with lines drawn in the sand is that with a breath of air, _they disappear._

Clint can't fathom or make sense of anything the voices in his head saying right now; all he knows is that he needs Pietro to understand. He desperately takes both of his hands in disagreement and can feel the other’s anguish and his own heartache combining in the thick air.

“You mean _everything_ to me.” Clint confesses, the crack in his voice is noted by the both of them and Pietro whines softly in responds. Eyelids drooping shut and limbs heavy, his mouth brushing against rough scruff along Clint’s jaw before he seeks out Clint’s lips, wanting to crush them together and Clint desperately wants to give into that sinful mouth.

“But, I can’t-”

Clint isn't given the chance to continue, for Pietro just turns, yanking his arms out of Clint’s grasp and he’s halfway across the room. Clint feels like he can't breathe as he watches Pietro power walk out of the room. He wants to beg him to come back, that hint of self-loathing increasing greatly.

_I want you._

_But more than anything,_

_I just want it to be okay,_

_to want you._

 

There is no turning back.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------x

 

Pietro hasn’t visited him ever since, and Clint has to admit that it _stings._ He found too much comfort in a voice that wasn’t his own and he is now paying the price. Now that he isn’t near it’s like Clint is craving oxygen and the kid stole all his air.

_He should really claw his way out of this._

He’s released from the hospital wing a couple of days later, but Clint feels worse each day that passes. Even though his skin has been regenerated and he’s able to properly walk again, he cannot face the training grounds yet. This leaves him alone with his thoughts most days, and his thoughts were destroying him, so he tried not to think, but silence was a killer too.

The emptiness was filling him, consuming him completely. He doesn’t want to face the kid, doesn’t want to see that unbearable bitterness forming in those blue eyes that before only held a certain fondness whenever Pietro locked their gaze.

He’s like a madness inside of him, a fever he can't cure. Clint knows he needs this to cool down, to analyze it and put things into perspective. Distance becomes his friend and sometimes he needs a break in a quiet place. Alone. To figure everything out.

He decides to do exactly that, and retires to his country house he bought so many years ago for exactly times like these. It’s the place where he can empty his overfull head and more importantly, it feels a little bit like home.

He only told a few people who mattered, Cap and, of course, Tasha. Cap, gladly gave him some time off to get some well-deserved rest and gain some peace of mind. However, Tasha had eyed him knowingly, her eyes filled with conflict and guarded sympathy. The only thing more unthinkable than leaving was staying; the only thing more impossible than staying was leaving. Clint didn't want to harm anything or anybody. He just wanted to slip quietly out the back door, without causing any fuss or consequences, and then not stop running until he reached home.

He told the people that mattered, but not the one who mattered the most.

So here he stands with his bags packed, looking back at their proudly growing Avengers headquarters. It’s more difficult than he had expected, leaving. He almost feels like he’s abandoning his team, his friends and their mission that he was amazingly proud to be a part of. Then again, life is about making choices, some we regret, some we are incredibly satisfied with and some that might even haunt us forever.

Clint is certain this decision is going to haunt him forever when he’s seated in his truck, just about to drive off until a flash of white hair is caught in the corner of his eye.

He gazes at Clint, revealing his fear and anguish again. Clint sees him swallow as he hurries towards Clint’s truck. His hands are thrown up in the air, silently asking _what the hell_ the archer is doing. Meanwhile, Clint’s heart is slamming in his chest and it increases with each step the speedster takes towards his old truck. His palms are sweaty around the wheel and Clint nearly forgets how to breathe as he watches Pietro’s face transform from agony to passionate anger. His passion that’s dark as kohl.

Clint’s sudden urge to escape, run off, and to get out of here increases and his whole body feels numb. So when Pietro demands that Clint lower his window, he can barely move. He collects himself by taking a deep breath and lowers his window before Pietro decides to break it instead.

“You cannot be serious.” The younger accuses him heatedly while leaning inside his window and taking charge of his steering wheel. He never should have opened that damn window, he should have just driven off, no loose ends.

“There’s no need for this.” He continues, trying to get Clint to look up at him, but Clint is stubborn enough to keep his eyes focused on the road ahead of him.

“This has nothing to do with you, get your hands off my steering wheel before I knock you over.” Clint replies, never meeting Pietro’s heated glare.

“No, I will not,” Pietro says in an almost comical way. “you do realize I can out run you easily?” He finishes, leering down, further demanding Clint to look at him.

“Fuck off, Pietro.” Clint finally snaps at him, while starting up his engine again and jerking Pietro’s hand from his wheel; his need to escape this suffocating atmosphere growing.

“No.” Pietro jerked back, grabbing Clint’s upper arm to squeeze it to the point of painfulness. Clint had no choice but to finally meet his intolerable gaze.

His eyes were like thunderclouds. He'd never seen them like that. Shock and anger filled them, Pietro’s face was paper white.

"Don't you leave me!" He gripped Clint shirt and tried to shake him. "Don't you leave Clint!" He raised his voice, yet it trembled. His eyes blazing, yet they held a crushing hopelessness as well.

_Everything is all right,_

_When you'_ _r_ _e here,_

 _When you_ _’r_ _e right next to me,_

_When my hand is in yours,_

_Don'_ _t leave me,_

 _Don_ _'t leave me empty handed._

 

“I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Pietro, I’m leaving.”

“Not without me.”

What haunts Clint the most about Pietro’s eyes is the pain he put in them. His hands clench around the wheel, as do Pietro’s on his shirt. Clint has been smashed and put back together so many times in his life. Nothing works right. Nothing is where it should be, a heavy thumping in his shoulder where his heart now beats.

“Don’t leave me,” he hears Pietro whisper.

He does something to Clint, that boy. Every time. He steps on his heart. He makes him break down each time.

“I won't ever leave you, even though you're always leaving me." Pietro’s tone was heartbreakingly warm.

Perhaps this is what the stories meant when they called somebody heartsick. Your heart and your stomach and your whole insides felt empty and hollow and aching. Listening to Pietro’s heart wrenching voice, it shatters something inside him that hadn't been broken before.

"Sorry, kid. " Clint murmurs, and he heard the faintest of tremors beneath his voice. Then he pushes the gas, forcing Pietro to back off and release him. He drives off, looking back at a defeated young man in his rear-view mirror. 

Clint makes it easier for people to let him go by making them hate him a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you thought of this chapter, I am very interested (and really curious) to hear from all of you.
> 
> Much love,
> 
> Kim.


	7. Pietro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running after Clint Barton, it’s like chasing the clouds. 
> 
> But goddammit,
> 
> he sure as hell isn’t called Quicksilver for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! I am so sorry that I took FOREVER to update. I haven't been well and was in a small accident with my car. Uhm, yes. But, I am totally fine now and please forgive this clumsy, terrible driver for being so late!
> 
> Hope you'll like it, it's Pietro's profile. 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> -Kim

_Pretty bird, why do you do this to yourself? Why do you let yourself pluck your feathers, and weaken your wings? Pretty bird, don’t you know you’re destined to soar? So don’t let yourself keep you from flying. Pretty bird, don’t be scared just to spread those wings, and be free._

-

_“I wish I chose to love you in silence, because in silence I find no rejection, and in silence no one owns you but me.”_

For if Pietro had loved Clint in silence, admiring him from afar, he might have still been here, with fond eyes, and his hidden smile, scolding his lazy footwork, that Pietro ever since, had no interest in correcting. If Pietro indeed had loved him in silence, and never tried anything. Just sitting there and silently loving him, never trying to make the archer his.

Perhaps then Clint wouldn’t have felt the desperate need to get a way from him.

Yet, Pietro knows himself well enough that was never a possiblity for him, because _non of that_ is who Pietro is. He’s someone who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, he wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, he makes promises he cannot keep, laughs too loud and cries far too often. For he is rash, bold and amorous, he’s swept away by passion and at times, he’s ever the hopeless romantic. As it is custom for him to go after his prey until there is no escaping him.

Yet, _there was._

The moment Clint left, his heart dropped down into his stomach.

Cause man, oh man, the archer had him wrapped around his finger. He would never admit that of course, mind you. Pietro hasn’t known him for long, he does not even know what his favorite color is (Probably purple, judging on his purple gear, swimtrucks or more or less, his everything) He doesn’t know his favorite song, _but…_

Pietro knows every detail and curve of Clint’s face, and the way those blue eyes sparkle when he smiles his not so hidden smiles. Pietro knows that Clint puts his left hand to his chest when Pietro finally was able to make him laugh after a miserable training day and the adorable way he fiddles with his fingers when he’s nervous.

Pietro think of him every minute of every day.

The only thoughts Pietro had were of Clint, the only dreams he dreamt revolved around Clint. His kisses so sweet and his arms were beyond home for him. But most of all, Clint had _challenged_ _him_ in ways no one else had. Seeing his many antics, quirks, and details that only he would notice and comment on. He was Pietro’s only spectator, and now, a glimpse of Clint’s absent gaze starts a fire of yearning within him. Even with all the words that exist Pietro doesn’t think he will ever be able to describe exactly how Clint makes him feel.

Pietro is the hopeless romantic idiot who falls for it everytime.

You see _that’s_ where he went terribly wrong, because when Clint left without a warning, so did his happiness and dammit, he felt like he wasn’t worth a dime, he had abandoned Pietro, he brushed him off like a useless no good animal. Like the way he felt _before_.

He feels if you’re going to leave someone, at least tell them the reason why because what’s more painful than being abandoned is knowing that you’re not even worth the damn explanation. There’s nothing more soul crushing than having a glimmer of hope then having it shredded to pieces.

One of the things Pietro realised is when you grow up is that the real monsters aren’t the green creatures that hide underneath your bed and in your closet.

The real monsters are the ones who lure you in with words that make you shiver with anticipation and heated touches that make your head spin. They’re the ones who breathe your name against your skin and whisper promises of eternal happiness into your mouth. They’re the ones that trace circles up your spine and break the cages you put up to protect your heart. The real monsters are the ones who will _leave you_ after you give every piece of yourself to them and not look back over their shoulder.

To Pietro, Clint is a monster in disguise.

Pietro believes at this point, he should ask himself whether or not he want Clint to feel the same way, or if he should just move on from him.

Easier said than done.

Even though Clint is a monster, Pietro still wanted Clint to just fucking pick him already. He wanted him to lay down beside him each night and see everything click into place in that conflicted mind of his, and all Clint would see was him. He wanted him to realise that this whole time Pietro was the one for him. He want Clint to grab his waist and pull him in, Pietro want to rush his fingers through his hair and feel the man's lips on his. He want to hear Clint breathe his name, feeling his fingertips on his cheeks or the tickle of his hair against his own stubbly chin as he kisses Pietro’s neck, but most of all Pietro want Clint to _want him_.

He also really wants to punch him in the goddamn face.

 

_But we don’t always get what we want do we?_

For want is a feeling deep in his stomach, tight in his chest, and throbbing in his veins. Pietro has known this ever since he met the archer.

_I kept choosing you, but you didn’t once choose me._

They were just stolen glances that lasted a little too long, but he cannot help but bet in another place, at another time, it could’ve been more than that.

_Would it have made a difference if I had told you that I loved you?_

Would he have stayed? Would it have mattered at all? Every time he thinks about the archer, how he left him, he feels like a black hole is tearing him apart.

You see, loving Clint was like chasing something you could never quite catch. But when he stopped and let you come a little closer, it felt right. Like it was supposed to be that way. Maybe Clint never quite loved him the way Pietro loved Clint, but on some days it sure felt like he did.

 

_Maybe I like the chase running after you_

_making my heart beat faster my blood_

_flushing to my cheeks_

_maybe I like the endless marathons_

_through the steep hills_

_and the agonizing heat of the moments_

_even after my feet blister_

_I still like the chase_

_because somehow_

_you still look back_

_and smile at me_

_and that’s just enough_

_to keep me chasing_

 

Running after Clint Barton, it’s like chasing the clouds.

But _goddammit,_

he sure as hell isn’t called Quicksilver for nothing.


End file.
